


Forever One-Shots

by island-mountain-glacier (Obscurity)



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Multi, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:06:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscurity/pseuds/island-mountain-glacier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A(n eventual) collection of Forever one-shots for the purpose of practicing my very rusty storytelling skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drinks (Henry/Lucas)

**Author's Note:**

> loosely shippy bc i cannot convey  
> enjoy  
> commenting will make my week probably

"H-how long have you been standing there?" asked Lucas, startled. It hadn't been the first time he'd fallen asleep in the morgue. Paperwork had a way of piling up and keeping him occupied into the late stretches of the night.

"Not long," Henry answered innocently, shifting slightly. He was still dressed in his typical fancy attire. "I was just hoping you might join me for a drink when you were done."

Lucas frowned. That was odd, even for Henry. Lucas didn't mind, but he definitely hadn't expected it. "Yeah..." Lucas's mind considered the consequences of ignoring the fact that he wasn't actually done with his paperwork and compared them to the chance to socialize with the typically asocial doctor. "Yeah, hold on, I'll be ready in a second."

"Great!" Henry replied. Was...was that a hint of excitement in his voice?

Lucas turned back to his paperwork and blinked a few times in surprise. Perhaps it would be better to clean his ears--to make sure that he wasn't hearing things. Shaking his head to clear mind, Lucas gathered up the paperwork and placed it neatly inside its folder before putting it away. Before he rushed to the bathroom to change out of his scrubs and into something more casual, Lucas noticed Henry had travelled back into his office and seemed to be having a heart to heart with a framed picture. Lucas was used to his boss's eccentricities, but that did nothing to quell his curiosity. He made up a dialogue in his head as he changed, illustrating a very emotional conversation between Henry and his mom. Henry had never made mention of her before, but then again, what did he know about Henry's family or personal life? The man was an enigma wrapped inside an extensive scarf collection--perhaps wrapped inside another enigma, if something personal was involved.

Lucas folded up his scrubs and placed them neatly back inside his backpack before meeting up with Henry at the door. It had been a bicycle day for the both of them, but Henry wordlessly flagged down a taxi and Lucas decided to roll with it. There were liberties that Lucas could take inside the morgue, but he sensed a fragility in the moment that made him wary. As if, were he to say something out of line, the opportunity would collapse, and everything would fall back into its old pattern. He didn't want to risk it.

They stopped outside a small bar near the bank of the East River with a view looking out over the water. It was by no means busy, but the few bar patrons were rowdy and drunk enough to fill up the empty room with just enough commotion to make it seem alive.

Henry sat down in one of the two chairs that had been placed next to a small round table tucked away in the back of the room and invited Lucas to sit down with him. Lucas hesitantly pulled the chair out and lowered himself into it. There was a nervous sort of silence that hovered in the air between them, no cool wind blowing through the thick, warm summer air. What was that one thing he'd been hearing around? 'Disappointed but not surprised'? It was times like these that truly made Lucas wonder if he should have made a better effort to conform when he was younger instead of just going off and being himself. At least then his ability to communicate might have been a little more polished.

"So...um," Lucas began trying to break the silence.

"Yes?" Henry looked up. He'd been staring at the table, probably lost in thought.

Lucas scrambled, trying to begin a conversation. "Are you alright?" There were probably hundreds of better things he could have said, but instinct forced itself out from his mouth.

"I am," Henry replied simply. There was no emotion behind it, no real sense of affirmation.

"Are you really, though?" Ah. Oops. Perhaps that was too big a jump. Subtlety had never been Lucas's game, not because he didn't care to try, but because he wasn't particularly skilled in the art.

Henry looked at him with a sad smile. "I can assure you, I'm fine."

"Right," Lucas stated, slowly, disbelieving. "Hold on. I'll be right back." He pushed himself out of his chair and went up to the bartender to order a glass of scotch for Henry and a small can of cheap beer for himself.

"Here," Lucas said firmly, returning to the table and placing Henry's drink on it, sliding it across to his friend. Was that what their relationship was? Lucas wasn't certain. It was hard to be certain around Henry, if he was going to be honest. The man always had him guessing, second guessing, triple guessing, and constantly questioning, but Lucas was grateful for it. He'd come so far since he'd started at the morgue with Henry and it was only because of him that Lucas felt he'd come the distance he had.

"What is this?" Henry asked.

"Scotch?" Lucas replied. "I thought that was apparent."

"I understand that, but--" Henry began, but Lucas interrupted him.

"You invited me to have a drink with you, so drink up," Lucas said simply. "Besides you need it." He looked at his own can, regretting the purchase. He could afford something more expensive, something more tasteful, but had ended up deciding against it. Henry was the one that looked like he needed to unwind. He opened it up and choked down a few mouthfuls before setting the can back down on the table.

Henry had taken a few sips of his own drink, but still looked distinctly world weary. "It's great. Thank you," Henry said in response to Lucas's inquisitive glance. He offered him a sad smile. "Sorry."

Lucas shook his head. "It's fine. We've all got things that bring us down."

The silence that followed was different, more companionable. Lucas still felt the urge to interject, to fill it with some sort of speech, but he decided to leave it, to let Henry direct the conversation.

Finally, he did. "For someone who works in a morgue, you're surprisingly full of life." Henry had returned to his thoughts. His hands were holding his glass loosely, and his eyes were trained on the golden liquid.

"You work in a morgue too," Lucas noted, "and you seem to live for our craft." He paused, then added, "It's kind of inspiring."

Henry blinked, seeming surprised, but, given his track record, there was no telling what he was surprised about.

"You've really helped me, you know," Lucas continued. "I wasn't exactly in the best place when I started working with you, but you've put some life back into me. You've got me asking questions again, like for instance, you're a question who probably doesn't have an answer, but helping you on cases has been really great, and I feel like I'm really doing something and..." Lucas trailed off, aware that he'd begun to ramble, digressing from wherever he'd intended the dialogue to go. When he looked up from the can he'd been nervously clutching, he noticed that Henry was staring at him, smiling warmly.

"I-I apologize--," Lucas began, feeling something warm in his stomach. It was probably the cheap beer.

"Thank you," Henry said cutting him off. "Just..." Henry seemed to be mulling over the words, and Lucas waited in anticipation to see what he'd say, but when Henry ended with another, "Thank you," Lucas felt oddly content.

At long last, the silence was truly welcome as they sat there together, sipping their individual drinks and looked out over the water across the East River to the buildings beyond. It was a dark night, moonless and starless, with only a few planes dotting the sky, but in the bar, at the table tucked away in the corner of the back of the room, Lucas had never felt more content. It was as if he were sitting in a valley next to the love of his life, staring up at the Milky Way as it stretched across the heavens in a welcoming embrace. What would happen next would happen, and, whatever it may be, Lucas felt he could take it in with open arms.


	2. Quarrels (Henry/Lucas/Adam)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry and Adam are secretly little kids. Of this, Lucas is certain. Other things Lucas is certain of include his knowledge of his partner's risky habits and that they both mean well, even when the moral line is blurred a little. Smudged. Erased. You know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like at first i was going to sleep but then i was like but what if i write fanfic like i've really been meaning to write something for them  
> but then i started and didn't stop and all of a sudden i'd amassed a story  
> so here have this thing

Henry and Adam were fighting again, but Lucas certainly didn’t want to have any of that. Negative of that, even, if he could accomplish it.

“And that’s why we're not moving from this table until you guys kiss and make up,” Lucas said, his voice akin to that of a disappointed parent. He made sure that his inner self, the slightly terrified but ever excited part of him, could not be found in his mien.

Henry crossed his arms and turned to glare at something outside the window. Adam’s reflection, perhaps? “He broke the terms of the contract,” Henry said, slowly, making sure to enunciate each word in a meticulous fashion.

“I did not,” Adam replied grumpily, squinting at Henry from his own position across the table.

“You killed an innocent civilian,” Henry said, nearly spitting the words out, but he just barely caught himself.

“He was not innocent,” Adam contradicted again.

Lucas sighed. For two hopelessly old men, they sure acted a lot more like children than either was willing to admit. Had they learned nothing in the centuries they’d been alive? 

“Tell me what happened,” Lucas said, choosing his words carefully. He hesitated, then reached out to touch Henry’s shoulder. As the more sensitive of the two immortals, Henry had to be handled in a different careful fashion than the more volatile Adam. “And don’t leave out any details,” he finished, after the pause.

“I decided it was time I trust Adam enough to let him assist me from the sidelines on our latest case, but as Jo and I were delving into information about the victim’s next of kin, along comes Adam with a knife,” Henry began, his voice heavy. 

Lucas could see quite easily where this was heading. 

“He takes the victim’s brother while I’m not looking and—” Henry gestured vaguely. It was apparent he had become rather agitated in trying to relive the memory. “—just kills him. In this case, he was essentially a victim too! He’d lost family!” Henry finished, and shifted slightly to return Adam’s squint with an indignant glare.

Lucas turned to Adam. “And you?” he asked, trying to sound as patient as possible, despite the fact that numbers of increasingly colorful theories were now being flung across his mind. “What’s your story?”

“Gabriel Cornwall was a murderer who intended to take Henry’s life, so I dealt with him,” Adam replied succinctly.

“He had an _alibi_ ,” Henry stressed. “Besides, we’ve already considered him as our perpetrator, but all facts point away from him.”

“He didn’t kill his _brother_ ,” Adam replied, finally starting to sound pissed. “But he’s killed others, and I know he’s related to Alexander Cornwall’s death somehow.”

“Your proof?” Henry demanded, his tone equally harsh.

“The fact that he was carrying, the fact that he has a sociopathic profile, and the fact that his record has several accounts of possession of illegal drugs including large amounts of cocaine and methamphetamine?” Lucas offered.

Both Adam and Henry looked at him, surprised.

Lucas shrugged. “Having lived with you two for several months now, I’ve learned that I need to do a ton of homework if I want to keep up. You both aren’t careful enough for my liking.”

“There are no records of these things in the files,” Henry said slowly, suspiciously.

“A good enough contractor can make anything appear and disappear,” Adam replied instantly, stopping Lucas from providing his own similar response.

“And I have contacts,” Lucas finished, and paused to consider what he was saying before continuing. “Well, Adam does, but apparently any friend of Adam’s is a friend of theirs.”

“Ah.” Henry, though unwilling to vocally accept defeat, retreated from his more aggressive stance and leaned back in his chair.

“So now you see, Henry,” Adam said, “I was just trying to keep you safe.” Lucas could hear how difficult it was for him to keep a sense of smugness out of his voice.

“Hmph,” Henry replied simply.

“That’s not very becoming of you,” Adam taunted, leaning forward across Lucas to get closer to Henry.

When Henry opened his mouth to retort, Lucas decided it was time to intervene once again. “Alright, guys, time to calm down,” he said, reaching out to pat them both on the shoulders. “As you can see there is absolutely no reason to fight.”

“Other than the fact that Adam is being an absolute pain in the arse?” Henry asked, bitingly.

Apparently Adam thought it was a good idea to stick his tongue out.

“Seriously, you two, you need to calm down,” Lucas said with a sigh. “Henry, please, swallow your pride, and Adam, also please, act your age.”

“Well, technically, since I’m the only one alive who is my age, there really is no socially correct way for me to a—” Adam began but stopped abruptly in response to Lucas’s rather pointed glare.

When he was sure that Adam was done, he turned to Henry, unimpressed. “And you?” he asked simply.

“I’m sorry,” Henry forced out through clenched teeth. “You were right, Adam. Thank you for saving my life.”

It took everything left in Lucas to turn around to make sure that Adam wasn’t giving Henry a ‘damn right’ look. Even now he wasn’t entirely certain that his two partners weren’t secretly children going through some form of convoluted ‘terrible twos’.

Of course, that also came with an unconditional love and an undeniable sense of responsibility that Lucas felt for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> having Lucas think something is the way i end all my stories  
> how am i going to write stories without him  
> lucas what will i do without you


	3. gerere (Lucas, Character Study)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick character study of Lucas and coping mechanisms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/gero#Latin  
> to carry (on), conduct, wage

Lucas gives stories to everyone that arrives in the morgue on a gurney. When he started, it was a very conscious effort, to see a ribcage cracked wide open and think “werewolf” instead of whatever horrible thing was actually the truth. 

He ends up exhausting his list of explanations fairly early on, so he starts looking for patterns. Deep burns are typically from dragons, while surface burns are from laser guns. He learns that there are important distinctions in the way the skin had been torn in a laceration, because a cut like _that_ could only have come from a monster like the one in the Split Second movie.

Lucas worries, at first, that his new hobby—really a habit at this point—will interfere with his work, but in the end it doesn’t. Even though his head’s in the clouds (or rather underground with a plethora of mole-people with machetes), he realizes that it’s occasionally a nifty tool to remember what cause could have led to what clue. When he reports his findings, it’s a simple translation in his head, from ogre to baseball bat, from mind control to suicide. (Lucas occasionally loses sight of which is code for which.) He has to be careful not to slip up, to never let his stories escape his head while at work, except when there’s a little wiggle room for a joke or two. There’s enough luck involved that everyone’s humor tends to run at least a little dark.

Lucas lets the reports become let downs. It was only a hit-and-run and not evidence of the Montauk Monster. It was merely radiation poisoning, and not aliens. He lets himself get caught up in the conspiracy. He lets the stories take him to where he needs to be, and it’s definitely a need, more so than any want. 

He knows it’s a coping mechanism, but he never likes calling it that. To recognize it as such would be to continually acknowledge it as a lie. So it’s not. It’s simply another version of the truth, for his eyes only.

It hurts most when he’s the one that has to present a dead body to a grieving family, because his carefully constructed second reality was never really that strong. As much as he says he wants to believe, he’s always been susceptible to more doubt than he’s proud of.

It’s horribly spotty, sometimes. He can be watching a film, and thinking about how good the special effects are when he remembers one of the bodies he worked on and how similar it is to the people on the screen. And what’s entertainment without a little relatability, right? Because he starts to think about the same things happening to him, or to his family back home, and how they would feel or how _he_ would feel if one of them died like that. He knows, because he’s seen it in front of him time and time again.

Lucas isn’t sure how much longer he’ll keep working at the morgue (or how much longer he can handle it). It’s definitely not a temp job, but he’s never really stayed this long doing one thing without some kind of greater goal in mind. Looking to the future and seeing himself somewhere has always been he’s been able to do, but it’s failed him this time. It’s not like there’s much climbing he can do from here. He’s pretty sure they’d have to pull the title of Chief M.E. from Henry’s cold, dead hands. (He wonders briefly if that’s even possible—Henry’s coping mechanisms have created their own improbable stories in Lucas’ head. He’s not sure how alluding to being very old is an effective method, but who is he to judge.)

It’s not that he hates his job, because he doesn’t. He loves it. He wouldn’t be doing it if he wasn’t enjoying himself, if the pros didn’t outweigh the cons. So he stays, however many more days and however many more stories until it’s time to move on to the better and the brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this year is going to be a creative year *clenches fist* i've been trying to write this for three days  
> this is the approximate length of a common app essay


End file.
